


This Pit In My Stomach (It Wants To Consume Me)

by TicciJack



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotions, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, It's the thought that counts, Kind of a character study, Lambert needs a hug, Snuggling, Some Heavy Themes, aiden helps, aiden's happy to provide, but if you're sensitive to that you might not want to risk it, but it's more like me projecting for 1000 odd words, but it's not the focus of the story, but that's how i write so beware of that, check on your friends dudes, even if it's just an electronic/metaphorical one, gratuitous use of commas and semicolons, how do I even tag this, i will cry, it's pretty ambiguous, lamb's having kind of a rough time, mentions of suicide adjacent, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have, nothing really explicit happens, nothing really happens, please do Not crit me on this, sorta - Freeform, the lambert & aiden can be read as platonic or romantic ig, there are so fucking many, there's a couple moments on a metaphorical cliff, they might need a hug, umm, writing this made me feel better tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:00:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28051317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TicciJack/pseuds/TicciJack
Summary: Lambert's having something of a disconnect and Aiden helps him find his way back.
Relationships: Lambert (the witcher) & Aiden (the witcher)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	This Pit In My Stomach (It Wants To Consume Me)

Lambert had been feeling.. _off_. all day. 

  
  
  


Like he’s standing at the very edge of a cliff, staring out blankly at the world beyond. 

Upon first glance, the view is perfectly normal; snow-laden trees and a cloudy, grey sky and little animals roaming in the underbrush. But there is no sound, no rustling leaves or winds. Looking down, dropping their chin down, there is simply a void. Nothing beyond, nothing below, just endless space to fall. (ample room to step forwards.)

He’s been teetering on the edge of the world for hours, waiting for a gust of wind or a startling noise to push him over the edge. Staring mindlessly at Beyond, trying to form a thought, trying to conjure the will of his limbs to make himself step back from the edge. (some small part of his being sways forwards instead of back.)

  
  
  


Of course, he is not standing on the edge of a cliff; he’s sitting in the dining hall of  Kaer Morhen’s haunted walls, staring blankly into the roaring fireplace. Why does his mind conjure this image? Why does his chest feel so tight and so empty? Why does his mind refuse to form thought? (why does it seem that Atlas has somehow laid his horrid burden into his very bones?)

Nothing particularly bad had happened recently. Eskel, Geralt, Jaskier, Ciri, and the various other witchers that winter with them arrived on time and uninjured. There are no more major repairs to be made. The weather is calm, no terrible storms to live through or concern them. The other chores are fairly innocuous and finished easily enough. Aiden is with him this year, settling in nicely with the rest of the keep..

All things considered, Lambert is doing really well right now; and yet…

and yet..

He still sits in front of the fire, bundled in his favorite winter fur and clothes worn to softness, a bottle of well brewed vodka sat next to him, feeling extraordinarily cold. 

why? 

  
  
  


what is it he is waiting for? Why is he on this ledge? Why can he not back away? Why are his feet stuck to the stone below him?

(Sitting before a roaring flame, tucked into layers of stone and cloth, lambert’s entire body sways ever so slightly forwards.)

  
  
  


What is in the void? (is it the empty in his chest, staring him down?)

What is the silent world beyond? (is it the life he cannot comprehend but wishes so desperately for?)

What is the inch of stone between his toe and the end of the ledge? (is it his pack? that little bit of separation between the empty and himself?)

What would be the wind to topple him? (is it his own mind giving into that urge to sway forwards just that extra inch?)

Why can he not draw himself back?

Why is his head so empty? (and how are his thoughts so loud?)

Why can he not draw himself back?

  
  
  


The door of the dining hall creaks open on ancient hinges just enough for aiden to poke his head into the room. Green-gold eyes scan the room, catching on the man swathed in blankets before the huge flames.

A smile comes to his lips and he slips past the ancient door, letting it close behind him as he heads for Lambert. 

The other witcher does nothing to indicate he can hear his approach, doesn’t tilt his head or make a noise or twitch in the slightest. A small frown creases Aiden's brow and he stops beside his companion; He tilts his head and leans ever so slightly forwards to catch sight of his wolf’s eyes.

As he thought, they’re glazed over and unfocused, staring intently into an unseen space beyond the fire. His expression softens at the sight, and for a long moment, he simply stands there- studying the face he knows so well. Hair short and swept back against his scalp; beard dark against his pale skin, well maintained in the winter; lips rosy in the warmth of the hall, ever so slightly parted; a flush sweeps up his cheeks with the heat of fire; eyes like sunlight through honey even in the flickering fire light; the intense lighting that seems to emphasize every angle of his face.

He knows his wolf can get lost in his own head, sometimes. When there is little to do or he has been docile too long, Lambert can slip away into someplace between waking and meditation. Sometimes, when the world has been unkind, he’ll slip in between and simply stare into nothing until he can snap himself back. (in the winter, he doesn’t have to do it himself; he’s not alone.)

From what he’s told aiden, on dark summer nights when he is too tired to be angry and cannot quite stop himself shaking apart, it’s not a particularly terrible place to be, though it’s not a particularly nice place to be, either; so, aiden settles himself on the floor next to his wolf and carefully places his hand on his shoulder.

There is not much of a reaction to the touch, lambert’s head tilts ever so slightly towards him. His expression is just the same, his face still lax as his body, but that’s alright. (Aiden knows Lambert’ll come back, knows he’ll be there when he does.)

  
  
  


On the edge of the world, standing an inch from an endless plumet, Lambert feels a breeze. 

For one long moment, he sways forwards, just enough to get him onto his tip toes;

and all at once, he stumbles back, limbs shaking and breath stuttering in his spasming lungs next to his fluttering heart. (had he been breathing? was that the tight emptiness in his chest?) 

  
  
  


Next to aiden, curled up on the floor, bundled in blankets, lambert shakes. His eyes burn and he knows if the trials hadn’t taken the ability from him, he’d be crying.

Aiden, steady beside him, just settles his hand more firmly and rubs little circles into his shoulder with his thumb. 

Lambert’s eyes close and his face is burning, (though the trials had taken the actual blush, unbridled emotion still settles hot in his cheeks,) and he can feel himself trembling despite the warm fire before him. 

Without a thought, lambert turns and tilts his head up to meet his eyes. For a moment, all they do is stare at each other, Lambert on the verge of tears, Aiden silently understanding. The stare is broken by Lambert clenching his eyes shut once again and leaning forwards until his head thumps softly against his friend’s chest, blanket slipping from his shoulders to the floor.

He’s still shaking, lower lip trembling, all but tearing apart at the seams, and Aiden just pulls him closer, pulling the other into his lap until Lambert’s face is tucked into his neck, arms wrapped loosely around his chest, hands fisted in the back of his soft shirt, legs wrapped loosely behind him. Aiden wraps the fallen blanket around the both of them and lets his own arms wrap loosely around his chest, slowly rubbing up and down their back. 

Aiden holds him as he trembles and sniffs, lets him rub his cheek against the soft shirt every so often; he continues to hold him even after he falls into an exhausted sleep, nose tucked behind his ear. 

When the position starts to become uncomfortable, Aiden expertly maneuvers them into laying down, still tucked together, and lets his own eyes fall closed, cheek tucked against Lambert's shoulder. 

  
  
  


it’s dinner when they’re awakened by Jaskier. 

Silently, Aiden locks eyes with Lambert, eyebrow raised ever so slightly in silent question. With a deep breath, Lambert nods, and they stand. 

  
  
  


Later that night, when Lambert is curled against Aiden once again, he pulls him closer and tucks his head under his chin.

He is no longer standing on the edge of the world on that jagged cliff all alone; instead, he is held close and safe, wrapped in a warm embrace. with miles instead of inches to spare, Lambert closes his eyes and lets himself settle. 

**Author's Note:**

> I got, like, genuinely upset last night and this just kind of threw itself up on my keyboard so here we are posting it. fuck it. 
> 
> this is pretty much just me living vicariously through lambert because it was really fucking late when i wrote this so no one was up but i wanted a hug and snuggle, so it's probably all kinds of not right but i don't care because fanfiction is meant to be self serving. writing this made me feel better, anyhow so it's served it's purpose. 
> 
> if i missed any tags please tell me so i can add them.


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